


The Rest of Us

by anne_ammons



Series: Drabbles for Fairest of the Rare - Lovefest 2021 [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Post-War, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29572002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons
Summary: Not everyone can be Hermione Granger. Frankly, who would want to be? Definitely not Millicent Bulstrode.A story of finding a friend and finding your voice.
Relationships: Millicent Bulstrode & Dean Thomas
Series: Drabbles for Fairest of the Rare - Lovefest 2021 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2148042
Comments: 7
Kudos: 9
Collections: Love Fest 2021





	The Rest of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nztina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Jealous Fabrications & Misconcieved Insults](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29307771) by [nztina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nztina/pseuds/nztina). 



> "Milicent Bulstrode was the first person to sign up to Dean’s study group and they had become fast friends after that."
> 
> nztina - When I read that line, my muse was immediately off to the races, wondering what such a friendship would look like. Here's my take on it. 
> 
> Back at you, friend! 
> 
> Written for Lovefest 2021 #TeamCass

Not everyone could be Hermione Granger. And besides, even if one could, who would want to? The hair. The neuroses. The self-induced pressure. It was enough to make anyone mental.

Of course, Granger was different this year. They all were. And N.E.W.T.s were enough to drive anyone to drink, even Millie. Granted, it was just on the other side of a war where her family had barely escaped with its reputation intact.

While the Bulstrode family was a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and most of their acquaintances had ties to the Dark Lord — many of them direct ties, but mercifully, not the Bulstrodes. She had never been so thankful that her father’s magical prowess was notoriously weak, due to a bout of Dragon Pox he had suffered as a young man. No one had even bothered to try and recruit him as a Death Eater. It was a small saving grace, but one nonetheless.

It had made had made her reentry to Hogwarts a lot easier than some. While she still carried the indelible stain of being a Slytherin, at least the Bulstrode Estate hadn’t played host to a madman. So, at the beginning of term, as olive branches were being handed out, she snatched hers up.

Everyone was focused on preparing for N.E.W.T.s, well almost everyone. Pansy’s focus was on ensuring her year ended in a proposal rather than a degree, and Ron Weasley hadn’t even bothered to come back, content to have his brother’s joke shop as his future path, but the rest of the Eighth years were at least somewhat invested in getting ready for their exams and doing their best to avoid ending up with a failing grade.

But there was the rub. Millie wasn’t part of the Ancient Runes/Arithmancy set, nor did she want to be. Its grouping was rather odd: Granger, the more intelligent of the Patils, Goldstein, Bones, Nott, and to just about everyone’s surprise, Malfoy. Not that he wasn’t intelligent, but everyone figured he had missed _so much_. However, it seemed that he was holding his own in the group or Granger hadn’t got fed up and kicked him out yet.

On the other end of the spectrum, there were a few of her classmates whose only hope for N.E.W.T.s lay in Muggle Studies, or shockingly, Divination.

Millie, however, was decidedly average. She had opted for N.E.W.T. classes in Charms, Transfiguration, and Care of Magical Creatures — with Firenze, not the giant oaf. Three N.E.W.T.s was doable, and she just needed to pass them. She wasn’t trying to compete with the Grangers of the world. An E or even an A would be fine, although she would prefer an E. And if somehow she ended up with an O in her best subject, Charms? Perhaps she would think about doing a mastery, if she could convince her parents.

With just three classes to focus on, her schedule left her plenty of time for revisions, but she knew she need an extra push to do well.

Enter Dean.

They hadn’t talked much before this year, but they had ended spending quite a bit of time together in the new Eighth Year common room — the “get-along room” as it was jokingly called, hearkening back to McGonagall’s admonishment to them all to behave themselves or incur her wrath.

On paper, she and Dean were exact opposites, she from a pureblood background, he from murky parentage. She was Slytherin, and he bled red and gold. But the funny thing was, when you sat down and talked to someone, and really got to know them, what stood out was all the ways you were actually similar.

Dean’s love for his younger sisters rivalled the way Millie doted on her younger brothers, mostly, because let’s face it, siblings could be rather annoying at times.

Both of them had a wicked sense of humour, were far better at Gobstones than Wizard’s Chess, and loved to critique their friends’ fashion choices.

And both of them were perfectly content not being the object of attention. That was how their friendship had started, standing against the wall of the common room at a time when everyone had decidedly NOT been getting along.

“I can’t believe he still slicks his hair back after all this time. It looks ridiculous.”

She had said it more to herself than anything else, muttering under her breath, but Dean, who had been standing nearby heard, and slid along the wall towards her, trying to stay out of the fray while Malfoy and Granger went at it again in the centre of the room.

“Right? But we can’t really talk about hair, can we?”

“I wish those two would just give up and snog already. It would make our lives a whole lot easier.”

“Snog? You think that would do it? 10 to 1 they’re shagging by December. Although, your boy is a bit clueless, so maybe March.”

Everyone turned their head at her resulting giggle.

Blaise was the one to speak up. “What’s so funny, Millie?”

She could only shake her head. The resulting mental images were too much to process.

Meanwhile, Dean’s face was completely blank, waiting for everyone’s notice to shift once again, as if he were completely innocent.

“Fine, if that’s how things are going to be, then I guess…” Granger shouted at Malfoy before turning to stomp off, her words trailing behind her.

At that, Dean turned to Millie with his eyebrows raised, silently commenting on the tension that remained in the room.

“See?” he mouthed.

She didn’t take the bet. She didn’t think he was wrong.

That night at dinner, he’d slid in next to her at the table.

“I take it I’m not going to get hexed for sitting here, am I?”

“Why?” she’d answered. “Who would hex you? And if they did, I’d hex them right back.”

His face relaxed, and they’d chatted throughout dinner and dessert, swapping stories about the times they had been adjacent to, but not directly involved in some of the craziest events that had happened during their time at Hogwarts.

And so, when Dean had mentioned putting together a study group for Charms and Transfiguration that didn’t require an advanced degree, she’d jumped at the chance. Tracy Davis, Hannah Abbott, Seamus Finnegan and Fay Dunbar rounded out the group.

Unlike some of their classmates, Dean had very good manners. He was always holding the door for people, and his table manners were leaps and bounds above some of the other Gryffindors.

While he had been raised by Muggles, she could be at least a little impressed, although she knew better than to admit that out loud, given how ridiculous that sounded.

Plus, he was rather handsome. However, Millie knew he wouldn’t be interested in her that way. They were friends, nothing more. Nevertheless, walking with Dean in the halls arm in arm, laughing at Terry Boot’s ridiculously loud socks or how high Parvati Patil had managed to shrink her skirt without getting in trouble, Millie could pretend. For once, it didn’t matter that she was a Slytherin, and it didn’t matter that she was the eldest daughter of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family with all the expectations that entailed. She was just Millie, who was happy to find joy at the end of such a dark time in all their lives.

It all came crashing down over Easter Hols, though. Millie’s parents had sat her down and explained to her how things would go after graduation. They were vetting several families from outside England, unless she somehow found a way to attract the interest of Theodore Nott — which she had no plans of doing. Local options in the wake of the war were few and far between.

Her only other option was to wait and marry someone younger than her. There was a Burke boy who was up and coming, her mother had suggested. That Burke boy was a Sixth year, and Millie had no interest in him whatsoever.

However, outside England, her parents explained that there had been a few inquiries from families whose children went to Durmstrang. Boys who she had barely met and didn’t know — complete strangers.

That night she’d lain in bed that night with tears in her eyes. Somehow she thought she’d escaped this, that especially in the war's aftermath, her choices would be her own to make. More than anything, she was mad at herself for having forgotten who she was and what the expectations were.

Maybe Granger had it made after all, free to live her own life and make her own choices, whereas Millie was no different from Pansy. Her parents sought to marry her off, too, whether for prestige or Galleons, or just to no longer have to bother with caring for a daughter. Her future was not her own.

As soon as she returned to school, Dean sensed something was off.

He nudged her at the train platform at Hogsmeade, seeing Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy walk towards the carriages, hand in hand.

“What did I tell you? April it is.”

She didn’t dare look him in the eye.

“Mills, what’s up?” he asked, concerned.

She brushed him off, boarding a carriage with some younger Slytherins, instead of her fellow Eighth Years. Anything to avoid her humiliation and heartache. She felt like a shell of herself, completely powerless to shape her own destiny.

Dean, however, refused to be deterred so easily. As soon as they were back at the castle, he was pestering her again, knocking at her closed door.

“What gives, Millie? Did something happen? Open up!”

She ignored the sound until it was quiet again, figuring he’d gone away, leaving her to wallow once more.

When dinner time came, she waited until well after everyone would have gone down to the Great Hall before opening her door. She needed something to eat, but wasn’t ready to have to talk to anyone. But there in the hallway sat Dean, lying in wait. She startled when she saw him. She had wondered if someone might notice her absence and bring her back a sandwich or something, but the most likely person to do that was sitting on the floor outside her room.

“Fuck, Millie! Don’t shut me out.” He called out before she could retreat into her room.

In a softer voice he added, “I thought we were friends.”

He didn’t get up from the floor. Instead, he just sat there, twirling his wand in his hand, waiting for her to explain the sudden change in their relationship.

Friends. What a concept. Were they friends? They were, or at least they had been, back when she thought she was someone who was free to write her own destiny. But now, it was more likely that she’d be whisked away from home and bundled off to some unknown foreign husband who would determine her social circle and set the boundaries for her engagement with the rest of the world. There simply wouldn’t be room for a friend like Dean going forward, and had she not been trying to live some fantasy in this strange year, she would have remembered her place, what she was born to do.

Just the thought renewed her misery, and she slumped down the wall and sat next to him. It wasn’t as if she could ignore him for the rest of the year, and she owed him an explanation.

He put his arm around her as she tried to stop the flow of her tears.

“My parents…”

Millie felt Dean stiffen. There was still so much they hadn’t talked about.

“They are planning to…”

She couldn’t say it. To say it out loud would make it real. She didn’t dare look him in the eye. He surely couldn’t understand. He hadn’t grown up the way she had, didn’t have the same pressure on his shoulders. Plus, he wasn’t a Slytherin; he hadn’t been raised with the crippling expectations that came with being a member of a Most Noble and Ancient House.

“Millie,” he pressed.

She took several breaths and swiped at her treacherous tears.

“Millie,” he repeated.

She finally looked up at him and saw nothing but concern in his face.

“Whatever it is, it’ll be okay.”

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her forehead, as if it were nothing; but in that moment, to Mille, who knew she must look a mess, it meant everything. It meant she wasn’t alone with this, and for the moment, she really did have a friend.

He conjured a handkerchief and handed it to her, letting her dry her eyes and pull herself back together.

Later, after Dean had snuck down to the kitchen and brought back some sandwiches, the two of them sat and talked. Millie explained what had made her so upset, and Dean listened, without judgment or interjection. He sat quietly and took it all in, all of Millie’s fears and insecurities, her disappointment and her frustration.

After she had finished, he looked at her, thoughtful.

“Did you tell them you weren’t interested in getting married, at least not yet? That that there are things you want to do first?”

_And that maybe you want some say in who you marry_ was left unsaid.

“I-”

Her speech faltered. They had raised her to accept her fate, to be a dutiful daughter and make the best of whatever situation she found herself in, knowing that her father would act in her best interest. But what if it wasn’t in her best interest? And what if she had spoken up when her parents had explained their efforts to secure a match for her?

Dean gave her a knowing look.

“Well, it sounds like you have a letter to write. At the very least, you need to speak up for yourself. Tell them what you want. You’re the best at Charms in our group. If you want a career-”

Millie shook her head.

“You don’t understand, Dean. You don’t know how things work.”

He shrugged. “No, I’m no pureblood, Mills, but I know this. They’re your parents. If you write them a letter, they’ll read it, and maybe they’ll even consider it. There’s no reason you need to rush into marriage. You’ve got a brain in your head and options. You’re not Parkinson. Tell them how you feel about it all and let them know what you want to do. Who knows? They may surprise you yet. And besides, you’ve got nothing to lose from a letter.”

Dean wasn’t wrong. While she probably should have said something when her parents had first sat her down, that may have devolved rather quickly into a battle of wills that would be unwinnable, at least for her. But instead, writing a letter, after she had had a chance to gather her thoughts — just the idea made the possibilities come alive in front of her again. But this time, she would need to be specific. She needed to explain how hard she was working for her N.E.W.T.s and what she wanted to do with them, she’d need to show that there were options for her that didn’t revolve around getting shuttled off to Eastern Europe.

With a new resolve, she sat down at her desk and took out a quill and let the words begin to flow.

_Dear Father and Mother,_

_I am writing to tell you…_


End file.
